


A low-hanging fruit

by tawny_owl



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Campfire confessions, Canon-Typical Violence, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, I just love writing them having epiphanies around a fire sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawny_owl/pseuds/tawny_owl
Summary: Goonight's hurt, Billy's here to help.





	A low-hanging fruit

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing porn, oops?

It’s a fast draw contest like a hundred others before, until it isn’t. Billy wins fair and square, without even bothering to hide his preternatural abilities; they’ve amassed a hefty amount of money lately, and he feels like enjoying himself without restraint this time. The sun and Goodnight’s appreciative gaze are warm on his back, and he feels invincible (which he is).

But as they walk toward the saloon to celebrate their victory with the usual beers and opium-laced cigarettes, they notice that the street is eerily quiet around them: no passersby heading toward the saloon with them, nobody coming to pay their respects to Goodnight’s feared name, not even a stray dog tagging along, hoping for a few scraps of saloon grub. They look at each other uneasily, and they barely have time to position themselves back-to-back when five angry-looking henchmen surround them suddenly, appearing from each side of the saloon and the neighbouring buildings. In the shadow of the saloon’s front door, they can see their boss, a haughty-looking contestant that Billy defeated not half an hour ago, promptly shooting the gun out of his hand at the first try.

Billy quickly assesses the situation, not wasting a second: they are obviously outnumbered, but three of the henchmen look slow and clumsy enough to disarm easily; the other two seems much more experimented with firearms, and they’re facing Goody. Shit. He can feel Goodnight tensing behind him, hands clutching his rifle; not wanting to waste any more time, Billy leans back swiftly, his left fingers briefly touching Goodnight’s right hand, and he whispers urgently: “On my count. One. Two. Three!”, drawing his gun almost too fast for the human eye to see anything but a deadly blur. When the smoke clears around them, two of the men are lying on the ground, bleeding heavily; another one is clutching his limp arm, almost doubled-over in pain, and the two remaining men watch them indecisively, clearly not knowing how or when to attack. Their boss is shouting insults at them from the saloon and Billy thinks it’s almost too easy, but as he draws his gun again he can feel it getting jammed in his hand, distracting him for a second. When he focuses back on the fight a moment later, he can see Goodnight leaping toward one of the men, who is aiming his gun at Billy’s head with a sure hand. A fraction of second later, the man fires in the air, losing his balance under the weight of Goodnight’s impact. As they grapple in the dust, Billy turns just in time to see the remaining thug adjusting his aim on Goody’s back, clearly thinking Billy’s useless now that he cannot use his gun. _Bad thinking, my friend_ , thinks Billy sardonically as he pulls out his hairpin and throws it swiftly toward the man’s neck. It’s still vibrating in its target as Billy runs toward Goodnight, who lies unconscious on the ground where his opponent bludgeoned him on the head with the barrel of his gun during the fight. Taking the rifle from Goody’s limp fingers, Billy doesn’t even think before he fires it neatly in the henchman’s face, blood spattering the ground around him; when he looks back at Goodnight, his friend is groaning, clutching the side of his head and trying to get back on his feet. Relief coursing through his veins, Billy helps him and half-carries him toward the stable where their horses are waiting for them, snorting anxiously at the smell of gunpowder and blood. All thoughts of beers and cigarettes are gone, and they are both relieved to leave this damned town, disappearing in the light of the setting sun until they’re far enough in the desert hills to feel safe.

 

“I’m not certain I know what brought us together, but I’m sure glad it did”, Goodnight says softly this night, head turning toward Billy as they lie side by side, exhausted, on a soft makeshift mattress of dried grass and covers. Tiny specks of gold are glowing in his eyes, and Billy feels like they’re the ones actually emanating warmth and light, instead of the firecamp crackling at their feet.

Heads turned, their faces are only a few inches apart and Billy could no look away if he wanted to.

“I’m glad too”, he answers tightly; remembering how close he was today to lose the only person he ever trusted on this foreign land is almost unbearable. Before he can think, he feels his hand move as if of its own volition, coming to rest on Goodnight’s temple just beneath the angry-looking bruise there, a bloody souvenir from the blow that nearly killed him. His fingers splay on the abused skin, his thumb smoothing the crow feet that spread at the corner of the eye; his other fingers are cupping his friend’s jaw, pads lightly scratching at the day’s worth of stubble there. Goodnight’s skin is warm and real under his fingers; alive. Billy closes his eyes and breathes in a sigh of physical relief so strong, it almost chokes him.

When he looks at Goodnight again, his companion’s eyes are dark and wide, his mouth slightly open, fast breaths coming out from between his split lips. It reminds him of the sweet-sour pomegranates he used to savour at home a long time ago; a low-hanging fruit, ripe and red and waiting to be plucked.

Sure and slow, fingertips tracing the shape of Goodnight’s cheek and jaw, he leans in and harvests his prize.

They both gasp quietly at the first touch, delighting in the taste of each other; everything feels otherworldly as their lips create their own dance, sliding together reverently. Billy licks at Goodnight’s cracked lip, tasting blood under his tongue. You’re alive, he thinks deliriously. You’re mine. As I am yours.

As if on cue, he feels Goodnight’s hands spreading on his flanks, tugging him closer still. They’re warm and strong through his clothes and Billy gives in easily, almost lying on top of Goodnight. Their legs are tangled together and Billy suddenly bits back a moan when he feels Goodnight’s groin slotting naturally under his hip; his own arousal, which he didn’t even notice until now, is trapped against Goodnight’s thigh, their respective trousers doing nothing to stop the heaviness and warmth from growing where their bodies are touching so intimately.

Heart hammering and eyes desperate, Billy’s unspoken question is answered unequivocally when Goodnight shifts just so, allowing Billy to straddle him entirely. This time, their moans reverberate loudly through the quiet night. On an impulse, Billy moves his fingers from Goodnight’s jaw to his mouth, and he nearly comes here and there when he feels his partner’s swollen lips sucking at his thumb. Their hearts are beating wildly in their chests, as if they were one, and he doesn’t know when their hips started moving in rhythm, but the resulting friction between them is too good to resist.

The feeling of Goodnight’s warm mouth and tongue lapping at the sensitive skin of his fingers sends sparks of desire through his whole body, and he knows he won’t be able to last long. He kisses Goodnight’s mouth again, and slides his wet hand between them, nimbly unfastening their trousers to gather their arousals before stroking them in slow pulls. In the cold night, the sensation of Billy’s hand on their heated skin is almost too much, and Goodnight lets out broken cry after broken cry, head falling back on the ground and hips arcing of their own accord. Billy is panting above him, and when he feels Goodnight’s hands on his hips, bringing them impossibly closer, he cries out too and buries his head against Goodnight’s neck, his length gliding one last time against Goodnight’s before he stills and trembles for what seems like an eternity, his whole body seizing. In the haze that follows, hips still jerking feebly with the aftershocks, he barely notices he is mouthing at his partner’s skin, warm and salty under his tongue, until he hears Goodnight’s breath catching underneath him. His hand is still trapped between them, slick and hot against their flesh.

“Ah, Billy”, Goodnight murmurs in his hair, clumsily kissing his temple and his eyelid and any bit of skin he can reach, before he comes too, still clutching Billy’s hips. His pulse is wild under Billy’s mouth, and they lie there for a while, slowly regaining their senses.

They share languid kisses after, brushes of lips and tongues against each other’s smile, and as Billy falls asleep against Goodnight’s shoulder, it feels like a dream when he hears a soft “I’m yours indeed, _mon cher_ ” whispered in his ear.


End file.
